Monday, April 4, 2011

Where the hell have I been? Certainly not tuned in, turned on, or dropped out.

Truly that is the question on everyone's mind since I have not written anything here in ages (can't count the Pantywaist Factory Fire, since that wrote itself, and did not entertain anyone, especially not me.) Well, let's just say that my rage got the better of me and I had to be removed from society for a period of observation. Thanks for all the flowers, by the way.

So... what have I been wearing? Not some other human's skin, not that anyone can prove. I know that I have mentioned Trash & Vaudeville's shoe sale rack bargain, and the importance of buying that second pair along with the first. I also know that I left you hanging, only showing you ONE pair of shoes. Ever since then, one question has been haunting you day and night, plaguing your dreams, ruining your appetite (or prompting binging – everyone has different ways of coping.) I am oh so happy to proclaim, the wait is over... TA-DA!

Neat, huh! How can you beat black and pink winklepicker brogues? I have always had a bit of penchant for two-tone footwear, especially when it exhibits such a saddle shoe influence. I get that from my mother, like a surprising large proportion of my aesthetics. She loved buying me saddle shoes when I was a little boy, which was somewhat difficult since all she could ever find at "The Shoe Rack" (Yes, our local shoe store was called that. Actually, there were two shoe store across from each other on the Washington Street Mall, but both were owned by Mr. Casale. I am not certain what shoes were at "Casale's" since that was the full retail store whereas "The Shoe Rack" featured that late-August back-to-school sale. Clearly, I was indoctrinated into the sale lifestyle from the time I could first walk.) were girl saddle shoes. Somehow, post-50s saddle shoes were relegated to the world of cheerleaders and fetish prostitutes. In retrospect, perhaps that contributed to the late elementary school abuse that was hurled at me by the like of Jamie Anderson... he was the ringleader, shouting "tinkerbell" at me across the lunch room all though the fifth and sixth grades. It stung a bit, since he had been a friend of mine before that, but I could never take it too seriously. For instance, he was short (even by 5th grade standards) and had a horrifying speech impediment. When some tiny goblin with a Dorothy Hammil hairdo starts screetching "tink-i-bell" at the top of his prepubescent shemale lungs, even a delicate 10-year-old has got to laugh. I suppose I was bullied back then, but it was done so ineptly it just didn't register. I should find him on FaceBook and see if he ever broke the 5 foot mark or if he ever found his Rs. Suffice to say I was cool beyond my years in the late 70s.

Wait, what? Oh! Blogging! Sorry. As with any new shoes these needed to be broken in, and even in this day and age and in this city, walking around with shoes and nothing else is frowned upon (also, apparently wearing someone else's skin does NOT count as being dressed either.) In short, I needed some sort of outfit above (but not distracting from) the shoes. The pink and white card suit socks were a natural choice, not just for the color, but for that Guys and Dolls alley gambler motif that follows the saddle shoe idea so nicely. It was either that or bobby socks and a cheerleading skirt.

From there I simply picked my only pink and black suit, the pink of course is only in the lining so it only peeks out as I walk, giving just that flash of zort to those who are paying attention. The thing about this suit that makes it so enticing is that it is sculpted velvet paisley, adding a delicate and complex pattern on top of those relatively bold shoes. My mother has a thing for paisley too, so it's just more of my genetics pushing through. Funny thing about paisley... it has developed this idea that it is a 70s pattern, but really it can be traced back to Persia and India about 2000 years ago. (Thus concludes my educational responsibility to place things in a historical context.) Paisley has to be done right so you don't look like some sort of dirty, patchouli-scented hippy though.

Speaking on the subject of patterns, you may recall (oh, toss me a bone and say you do) that I wrote at length about the joy of combining literally billions of patterns as long as you maintained a cohesive color scheme. I used the black and white example but alluded to using actual colors. Well, the converse is equally true: You can play with perhaps one gajillion colors IF you stick to one pattern. Now this example doesn't really demonstrate that in an extreme sort of way since you will see mostly neutrals, but you get the point, right?

Now here is my big BUT: contrary to what I said above, if you throw too many colors in with a paisley you DO wind up looking like the aforementioned stinky hippy. We are all aware that looking stinky is more or less equivalent to actually stinking. People will just assume that you reek and will go out of their way to avoid you. They will also be terrified that you will attract others like you and spontaneously form a drum circle. But look, it can work if you remember dignity, always dignity.

I just look like someone you would want to sniff.

I do promise that I will give you a much more exciting mono-pattern, multi-color treat just as soon as I feel like it.

Coming Up: Underpants and why come a child's large fits better than an adult's small.